He Remembered
by amberdowny
Summary: Charles knew what really happened to his little brother...and he remembered. Sort of dark.


Disclaimer: I don't own MASH. If I did, it would've been even slashier than it already was, if that's humanly possible.

A/N: No slash in this one. No, this is a Charles piece. Kind of dark. Quick note--most children _don't_ talk in sentences before two, from what I understand from my Child Development course.

Charles Emerson Winchester the third was six years old. It had been his first day at school today, and he had decided that it would be a lot more fun when Honoria and Andrew were old enough to go, too. None of the other children liked the same things he liked. Honoria and Andrew liked everything he liked, because he was the oldest and they looked up to him.

"Ch-Charles, t-tell us ab-b-bout school again," Honoria begged. She and Andrew were seated on the floor of their playroom, while Charles was sitting in the armchair, "reading" a large book taken from their father's study. Honoria was only four, and Andrew was only three, so neither of them had to know that Charles did not really know how to read such a long book.

"Well," Charles began, "there are a lot of other children. More than ten. That's this many," he added, holding up ten fingers to benefit Andrew and Honoria, in case they did not know what ten was. "And we all sat in desks in rows and copied words and arithmetic problems off of the blackboard."

Honoria's eyes were wide. "Desks l-l-like F-Father's?"

"No," Charles admitted. "Small desks. And we colored with crayons too, Andrew." Charles knew how much Andrew liked crayons.

Andrew grinned. "I like crayons!" he said joyously. "Char, Ria, color?"

"All r-right," Honoria agreed, standing and walking to the shelf with the crayons and paper. She sat down again and handed a piece of paper to Andrew, then took one for herself. "Ch-Charles, come and c-c-color with us."

Charles slid off the chair and onto the floor beside his siblings. "I am going to draw a picture of school," he announced. "What are you going to do, Honoria?"

Honoria thought for a minute, and then said triumphantly, "B-ballerinas!"

"What are you going to do, Andrew?"

"I'm going to, I'm going to, draw," Andrew replied.

"But what are you going to draw?" Charles persisted. Andrew did not talk as much or as well as Honoria had when she was three, even though Honoria stuttered. He did not draw as well either, and if Charles did not ask, he would guess wrong and make Andrew cry.

"Char and Ria!" Andrew giggled. He selected a blue crayon and began to scribble something vaguely resembling a circle.

The three children drew for a while, until their nanny, Mrs. Palmer, came in to bring them all to their respective bedrooms. Honoria's was just across the hall from the playroom, Charles' was three doors to the left of hers, and Andrew's was three to the right.

Honoria went to her room without fuss, and Charles _of course_ did not fuss either, but Andrew was making all sorts of whimpering noises. "Char," he said, holding out his drawing.

Charles was about to come back to him and take it from him, but Mrs. Palmer picked Andrew up and carried him into his room. Andrew hated being picked up, and so he began to scream. Charles winced as he put on his pajamas and climbed into bed, embarrassed for his brother. Father hated when they did not go to bed quietly. Charles yawned and snuggled deeper into his bed. It was so warm…

Charles was awoken by more noises from Andrew's room. It sounded like he was calling, "Char, Char!" Charles got out of bed and tiptoed out into the hall. He snuck down until he got to Andrew's door, and then slipped inside quietly.

"Andrew, what is it?" he whispered.

"Char!" Andrew said happily. "Take my, take my, take my picture?" Charles squinted in the dark and saw that Andrew had the picture and was holding it out to him.

Charles crossed the room and took the picture from his brother. From what he could tell, he had a blue head, yellow body, and orange hair. Honoria had a purple head, green body, and pink hair. He could only tell who was who because Honoria had longer hair than he did. "Thank you, Andrew, it's really good. I will keep it forever."

Andrew began flapping his hand around, which Charles knew was a sign that Andrew was frustrated and did not know how to say so.

"Or, I could hang it on the wall," he suggested quickly.

Andrew giggled. "Hang," he agreed.

"Sleep now," Charles told the three-year-old, then tiptoed out of the room. He was about to go back to his own room when he heard sounds coming from his parents' bedroom at the end of the hall. It sounded like an argument.

Still holding the drawing, Charles snuck to their bedroom door and stood outside it, listening.

"Charles, I do not think such a measure is necessary!" Mother said firmly.

"Winifred, you have observed the child. He has something wrong with him, some--mental retardation! He simply cannot remain a part of the Winchester family!" This was Father, sounding angry.

Mother again: "Perhaps he's just slow. You know Charles did not talk in sentences until he was nearly two."

"But he was talking very well by the time he was three! He could say Honoria's name, for God's sake, and his own! Andrew cannot say Honoria _or_ Charles properly, and he cannot say his own name at all!"

That's not right, Charles thought, Andrew can say his own name. He just says 'An'.

An exasperated noise preceded Mother's next words. "Still, that is no reason to…get rid of him!"

"It is bad enough that Honoria stutters. You convinced me that she might grow out of it, of which I have seen no evidence. I will not be associated with a person who had some kind of…of _mental defect_, especially not a person who is my son!"

Charles did not want to hear anymore. It sounded like Father was going to send Andrew away, just because he was not as smart as he, Charles, was. And it also sounded like Father had wanted to send Honoria away too, just because she stuttered. That was not nice. It did not seem right.

But Father always got his way, because he was Charles Emerson Winchester the second, and that was just what happened. It would happen when Charles was grown up too, because he would be Charles Emerson Winchester the third, and that would just be what happened.

They told him and Honoria that Andrew had run after his ball, straight in front of the oncoming car. That they had yelled for him not to, but he had anyway. That the driver tried to stop, but could not. That the doctors at the hospital had tried to save him, but could not.

Charles thought that must have been a lie. Andrew always did what you told him if you yelled.

"It was a terrible accident, children," Father said at dinner that night. "But there is always a reason for what happens. We just have to accept that Andrew is gone."

Charles decided that he would become a doctor when he grew up, so that no one else's little brother would die because of doctors who could not save him.

Slowly, all signs of Andrew were erased from the house. First to go were his possessions, which were given to charity. Next were his photographs, all put away in boxes in the attic. Finally were the things he had given to Charles or Honoria.

Honoria did not really remember Andrew as she grew older. He became more of a name than a memory. She stopped telling people that she had a brother and another brother who had died, and only told people about him if they asked specifically.

But Charles had been six when Andrew died. That was old enough to remember.

And he did, indeed, remember.


End file.
